Truth Or Dare
by The Cold East Wind
Summary: Sometimes games can be more dangerous then expected.
1. Chapter 1

Helloo. The Cold East Wind here. Welcome to my first Uni AU. I wanted to give a little aside before we head to class. John and Sherlock are 26 and 21, respectively. I like to keep the age gap.

Also you'll notice that Sherlock isn't using his mind palace in a situation that would seem perfect for it. Well that's because he doesn't have one yet. He is only 21, and still learning what his brilliant mind is capable of. He's building rooms. But will soon begin to put those rooms together in one glorious place. Now let's go...we're about to be late for class!

File:Ruskin Park, Lambeth, London -covered

The campus was a buzz with the apparence of the mysterious "Truth or Dare Night" flyers. The flyers outlined a campus wide game of truth or dare and had been taped to the doors of various students, seemingly at random.

~Up For Some Fun?~

~Friday 11PM Ruskin Park Covered Walk~

~Truth or Dare Night~

~Do *You * Dare?~

~Must Bring Flyer~

No one knew where they'd come from and apparently no one cared. The invitation of the mystery was too tantalizing for any amount of caution. Sherlock thought it was stupid. Who would want to play a game of risk and exposure with people you don't know? Mostly he was turned off by the prospect of people. The other bits where rather interesting if he were honest. But it didn't matter one way or the other because Sherlock wasn't one of the chosen students to receive a flyer on his door. Not the he wanted some idiotic invite to a childish game. Well maybe for the research. Into human behavior. Sherlock did know a couple of the people that had gotten flyers and was relatively certain that he could gain some decent (even if it wasn't completely accurate) information on the whole mystery from one of them. Sherlock took a deep breath and resigned himself to the fact that he was going to have to deal with Irene Adler. He sighed. He and Irene were friends of sorts. He'd known her for the two years he'd been at King's, and they got on well enough. She wasn't a complete moron and even though she continually made useless attempts to get in his trousers (that were by now almost obligatory)she did have a wicked sense of humor and an odd kind of affection for Sherlock and she was always up for a bit of mischief. So Sherlock didn't think it would be to much trouble to convince her to his plan.

"Sherlock, it's a harmless spot of fun, a distraction. Nothing more. A break from the ancient professors constant groaning." Irene sat cross legged on Sherlock's desk smoke swirling in the air above her. She slipped off the desk and went to the window. "Would you look at that. Captain John Watson. Kings rugby. I wonder what he likes?" Irene purred as she tapped a manicured nail on the window.

"No you do not. " Sherlock said with the bite of a warning to his voice, coming to join her at the window.

"Mmmm. Let's go watch shall we?" Her eyes sparked.

"I have work to do woman. I have no time for..."

"John Watson?" Irene cut him off mid speech. "No time for fathomless blue eyes and an insanely hot ass?"

Sherlock often found himself regretting the fact that Irene had expertly deduced his attraction to John. She was rather good at spotting the things that people liked. She'd caught Sherlock on more then one occasion stop dead in his tracks just to watch John pass by. She had asked Sherlock countless times to go down to the pitch with her, and each time he had forced himself to decline. But today, in the sprit of truth or dare...

"Fine. But this means that you'll pay close attention at that game tomorrow night, and you'll answer all my questions after." Sherlock picked up her pack of cigarettes and lit one on his way out the door.

"Done. But I'm sure there will be little to nothing of worth at a drunken game of truth or dare to interest you. It's just that brain of yours over thinking things as usual." They walked side by side at a brisk pace.

"I may 'over think' as you say, but I am also rarely wrong. Don't you find it the least bit curious that no one has taken credit for the idea or the flyers themselves for that matter? People are in my experience eager to get recognition for their supposed achievements no matter how slight."

"Yes, yes. Stupid, vapid human beings. I know. Now can we focus on watching hot boys on the pitch?" Irene rolled her eyes with the expertise of long suffering practice in the art form.

Sherlock no less skilled in the art answered with an impressive demonstration of his own. "I thought "hot boys" were not your area?"

"Not. I was just trying to provide motivation."

John Watson, third year medical student, captain of the rugby team, and rumored to be one of the student bodies top 10 best shags Sherlock speculated that he was more towards the head of that list, as he had once watched John chat up a young woman at a party one night that Irene had druggug him to. By the end of things Sherlock himself was nearly as taken in by the blond as the young woman had been. John's smile was easy, yet disarming in the most pleasant of ways,his confidence was intoxicating and his laughter sounded like the words "take your clothes off" to Sherlock's ears. And right now he was covered in a very attractive layer of dirt and sweat and headed this way.

John picked up a towel off the bleachers and wiped his face. Irene elbowed Sherlock.

"Hey, are you the captain?" Irene asked knowing full well the answer.

John finally looked up the bleachers where Irene and Sherlock were sitting. "I am. Who's asking?" John asked {playfully.}

"Oh, it's just my friend here and I were having a debate. He said you were, and i said you weren't." Irene winked at a shocked Sherlock and turned her charms on John, using her most seductive voice and a come-hither look if ever Sherlock had seen one. All of which was completely lost on John, because he hadn't taken his eyes off Sherlock.

"Dose your friend have a name?" Now it was John who was turning on the charm, and woe betied anyone in his radius.

"Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock hadn't thought he was capable of speech in that moment but something about the brilliant blue eyes, tousled gold blond hair, and sunbeam smile, gave Sherlock a reckless confidence in an area he was profoundly unfamiliar with.

John walked up the seats separating them, and extended his hand. "John Watson. Captain of the kings men, and pleased to meet you Sherlock Holmes." John didn't so much shake Sherlock's hand as he did hold it and run his own calloused thumb over Sherlock's smooth knuckles.

"Oi! Watson!" Greg, one of John's teammates yelled up from the pitch. "Put it back in your trousers and get over here!"

John turned his head but didn't let go of Sherlock's hand.

"Clearly you've forgotten who's captain. Give me a lap Lestrade!" John turned back to face Sherlock with a dazzling smile. "Sorry. Undisciplined lot. I've seen you around campus, it's good to finally meet you." John slowly let go of Sherlocks hand. "I hope to see you again soon. I've got to get back to the pitch." John stated off toward the field. He back peddled and called up to Sherlock. "Maybe you can come watch me play one day!" John flashed one more killer smile and turned to run back into the fray.

"So which one was it this time Watson, the bird or the bloke?" Greg asked as he rounder the pitch after his lap.

John grinned at his teammate and nodded to the couple still watching. "You take a look and tell me?"

"Oh. Thats him isn't it? The one you've had your eye on but were too scared to talk to." Greg ribbed John laughing.

"Not too scared, he just seems...standoffish, more of a challenge then my average pursuits." They both stretched in place as they talked.

"Like I said scared." John gave Greg a hard look and was about to speak when he was cut off. "I know I know, give you a lap."

"Well someone is smitten." Irene said as they walked back to the dorm arm in arm in a cloud of shared cigarette smoke.

Sherlock huffed. "I know. It's truly pathetic I've let myself fall so far." Sherlock sounded defeated as he waved a cigaretted hand in the air.

"You think I mean you?" Irene chuckled. "Oh no dear boy. I ment John. That man didn't even glance in my direction. He fancies you." Irene disentangled herself and hopped a bit walking backwards in front of Sherlock grinning up at him. "And now he knows you fancy him as well."

"Oh, dear God you're right!" Sherlock's eyes widened, and he took a long drag. Irene continued to chuckled in a gleeful yet maniacal little way. "Go away from me woman. I've got thinking to do." Sherlock shoed her away, as Irene cast an impish smile over her shoulder waving in farewell. Sherlock walked aimlessly about the campus for who knew how long, analyzing cataloging and shelving each snapshot of his brief conversation with John. Sherlock lingered over the memory of John's roughly calloused thumb with the surprisingly gentle touch. He found himself smiling at the idea of calloused fingers being dragged over soft skin. It had been a long time since Sherlock had allowed himself to have the kind of thoughts he was currently indulging in. Which is most likely why he didn't noticed that he'd wandered into an occupied alcove, nearly bumping into the intertwined couple.

The two young man parted and gave Sherlock a look of utter discuss.

"What the bloody hell! Are you blind as well as dumb?" Thomas Shipton snarled in Sherlock's face.

"Don't be idiotic Thomas, you know I am neither blind nor dumb, you're just angry that I of all people caught you and Paul is it? In a position that you would much rather your mates never find out about. You really should aim to be more creative in your insults, or at the very lest accurate..."

Thomas punched Sherlock in the face.

"How's that for accuracy wanker? Did you follow me here? You did didn't you?"

Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose making sure it was only bloody and not broken. "Believe me when I tell you Thomas, you and your little clandestine trist where the farthest things from my mind." Sherlock cursed himself for his sharp words knowing it would earn him another good punch, but what was he to do? His mouth and his mind really needed to come to some sort of agreement.

"What I believe is that you followed me here..."

"Oh please! You're the one always accosting me in ever other dark corner. Why in Gods name would I be interested in following you?" Thomas's face turned three different shades of red. Paul, muttered something in the background and rushed off. Sherlock realized his mistake as he watched Paul's retreating back. Thomas backed Sherlock against the wall and was inches away from Sherlock's face now. Too angry for worlds he just made a sound that reminded Sherlock of a dog that had his hackles up. He raised his hand, and to Sherlock's surprise his hand was not made into a fist, but an open palm. That surprise turned to pain as that palm slammed Sherlock's head against the wall. Pain burst throughout his skull and blackness took his vision.

When Sherlock blinked his eyes open painfully and slowly he could just make out Thomas walking far off across the campus lawn. So he deduce that he hadn't been out very long, and tried to stand. His head screamed with pain and his legs were wobbly. Fighting down the urge to vomit, Sherlock braced himself on the wall and started his trek back to his room. The blood from his nose had dried and he could feel a lump just above his right eye. He knew he must have looked a mass and was glad for the lack of people he encountered. But as fate would have it Sherlock did manage to cross paths with just one person on this struggle home. John Watson. Sherlock could see his building less then a block away he pulled out his keys and kept his focus on his goal. Clutching his coat and scarf tight at the neck and keeping one hand free for balance, he didn't notice the young man run up beside him and clap him on the shoulder until he was nearly knocked to the ground from the force.

"Sherlock, whoa, you ok? I was calling you." John stepped in Sherlock's path and grabbed his shoulder as he swayed on his feet. Sherlock involuntary latched on to John's biceps. John looked up at his battered face in shock and confusion. "What...what happened to you?"

"John, as much as I would enjoy your hands on me any other time, right now I'm freezing my head is pounding and I just want to lay down and have a cup of tea."

John looked up at the beautiful blood stained boy with the bruise forming over his eye and laughed. "First do no harm. I'm a med student and I can't in good conscience leave you alone like this. And looks like you're the handes one at the moment. Which is fine by the way. Now let's get you settled yeah." John took the keys from Sherlock and continued their walk.

"John, believe me under normal circumstances I would argue with you but right now, I simply can't. I don't want you to get the wrong impression. I would never accept an offer of help like this, have some stranger in my flat, but it has been an unusual day all around." Sherlock's speech was faintly groggy, and even though John had only heard Sherlock's voice up close for the first time this afternoon, the perfection of that liquid honey baritone was ingrained in his mind and had played on a continuous loop for the better part of the day, so it was no surprise that John was able to notice the slur.

"If you were anyone else, I think that statement would have been offensive. But you being you, I'll take it as a compliment." John read flat number 122 on the key and turned the corresponding lock.

"Me being me? You have no idea who I am, what I'm like or the slightest thing about me!" Sherlock pulled away from John at this point a little offended.

"Not true. And don't upset yourself, it will only make your head worse." John guided Sherlock to his bed by the window and patted the pillow for him to lay back. "I know plenty about you. The infamous Sherlock Holmes." John looked about the little kitchenette for a flannel, wet it and wrang it out. "I know that you're brilliant, and gorgeous and that you fancy me. But you don't trust me. I'll have to work on that. So when did all this happen?" John held the cold cloth to Sherlock's bruised temple and watched his pupils carefully.

"I'd have to say 90 minutes ago or so. I can't be sure considering I was unconscious for a good part of the time. But 90 minutes seems a good approximation. Don't you want to know what happened? How I got this way?"

"Do you want to tell me?" John had pulled a chair next to Sherlock's bed and was inches away from his face."Because of course I want to know. But I mostly want to make certain that you're alright and then, we can talk about how you got this way if you want until you fall asleep." John talked as he put two fingers on either side of Sherlock's jaw pressed and made small circles. Sherlock just staired at John. He found that he wanted to talk, to tell John everything. It must be the head wound.

"I interrupted a private moment between a young man I use to room with and another young man he doesn't want anyone to know about. You see he's angry with me. He says I made him this way. Made him like men. His words not mine. And now whenever I see him he's either shoving me in a corner trying to kiss me, or shame me publicly as a whore."

"Thomas Shipton." John said quietly and got up to put the kettle on.

"Yes well, I guess it isn't really a secret is it now." Sherlock watched John move about his room like it was his own.

"He shouldn't put his hands on you, and he's angry with himself." John's face set in worried frown.

"Well of course he is. But who would he have to blame for his sexuality then?" Sherlock shrugged.

"So you two had a thing?" John handed a cup to him. Sherlock wasn't usually this chatty but he'd come this far in the telling of things so there was really no need to stop now.

"You must understand this was all new ground for me, I didn't navigate things very well, I had no idea that Thomas was in denial about who he was or that he would not only deny what was between us but lie about it too. It was and is still an ugly mess, that I'd rather put behind me, but seems to anger him anew every time we run into each other." Sherlock waited for John's reaction not sure what to expect.

"Thomas Shipton, is a basterd and a fool. Now get some rest Sherlock Holmes, and I'll come look in on you tomorrow."

"And what if I don't want you to look in on me tomorrow?"

"Do you not want me to?"

"You can't answer my question with a question!"

"Yes I can. I do what I want. And that's why I'll be to look in on you tomorrow. Now sleep." John took Sherlock's cup and sat both on the bedside table, he straightened out his legs crossed them at the ankles, folded his arms and closed his eyes.

Sherlock confessed asked. "What are you doing?"

"What you thought I was leaving? Oh no not till you fall asleep and stay that way for a good while. Once I'm satisfied that you're resting well then I'll go. And I'll see you tomorrow. Enough talking."

Sherlock smiled despite himself, and decided to listen to his new doctor.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock woak slowly to the gray London morning his head pounded and his nose was sore. But most disappointing of all was the absence of his new doctor. He had enjoyed John Watson's company. The thought made him smile. Sherlock slid out of bed and resigned to get ready for his day. Once showered and dressed he took one last look at his battered face in the mirror and sighed. He was purple and bruised there was nothing for it. Oh well. He didn't give a damn what people thought anyway. Sherlock stepped out his building and was greeted by a one Miss Irene Adler. Shit.

"What one earth happened to you? Who did this Sherlock? You have to go to the dean, why didn't you call me?"

"Which of those things would you like me to address first woman?" Sherlock took the cigarette from Irene's hand that she had been smoking.

"The second one please." Her eyebrows arched sharply.

"You're clever enough. You know who. The what is obvious and the details are irrelevant. And why would I go to the dean who absolutely hates me?"

"Because you're a student here and Thomas can't be allowed to just basically bully you." Her porcelain face was red with anger.

"The dean would be more likely to expel me then defend me, once I deduced his two simultaneous affairs in front of both parties, my affairs stopped being important to him."

"Well that's just bullshit." Irene snorted.

"Eloquently put." They walked in silence towards class. Irene spotted John first heading their way. He stopped right in front of Sherlock completely invading what would be considered his personal space.

"Hello John." Irene offered a pretty smile.

"Oh hay." John spared her a quick glance, before turning his full attention to Sherlock. "How did you sleep?" John turned Sherlock's head by his chin as he looked Sherlock over.

"Well I suppose. I didn't notice you'd left." Sherlock's voice was soft and warm. Irene watched the scene in silence.

"You looked like you needed the rest." John's voice was low and private. "I didn't have the heart to wake you. Plus you're even more beautiful when you sleep if that's possible." John gently pinched Sherlock's nose, he winced. John let his thumb brush Sherlock's cheek. "Sorry. Had to make sure it wasn't fractured. I'd like to see you later. Come to my practice."

"John I can't..." Sherlock had to surpress a shiver from John's touch.

"You can't what say no? Come. Please. That way I can keep an eye on you. As your doctor of course."

"Of course." Sherlock rolled his eyes and gave a crooked smile. "I'll be there. But only because I owe you for last night."

"Brilliant." John and Sherlock held each other's gaze for a long moment, John obviously trying to decide if he was going to kiss him. Sherlock held his breath waiting. A smile spread across Johns face slow and full of heat. "Later." The word held a double meaning. John tugged at Sherlock's coat sleeve as he walked off toward class.

Sherlock closed his eyes and took a deep breath, ready for the assault.

"Last night? You sneaky little cockwhore." Irene hissed close to Sherlock's ear.

Sherlock found himself laughing softly at Irene's words. "You jealous?"

"Oh please you lanky git! I'm pissed because you didn't tell me!" Irene smacked Sherlock's arm.

"There's nothing to tell." Sherlock recounted last nights events for her.

"Well it looks like your John is a saint on top of everything else. Let's hope he's a sinner in bed!" Irene bumped Sherlock with her hip and started to walk off fast.

"I've got labs all day, and apparently practice later, don't forget to pay close attention tonight and collect all the useful data you can!" Sherlock called after her. To which Irene just raised her middle finger in the air.

Sherlock set the lab on fire twice. He tried to tell himself that the mint green smoke he'd made had nothing to do with John Watson, but there was no point in lying to oneself. Lapis blue eyes that danced between sapphire and midnight made thinking clearly a struggle. Some how Sherlock managed to get through the rest of the day without causing anymore damage. He started towards the pitch and had to force himself to slow down. He felt silly for being so eager. Sherlock had always thought of himself as a man of science and reason. But then he laid eyes on John out there on the pitch running, wind in his hair, number 9 emblazoned on a jersey that seemed molded to his chest and the strength of his thighs...

"What are you doing here?" Thomas asked as he an a couple of his mates sat behind Sherlock a few steps up.

"I'm just here as a favor to a...friend." Sherlock didn't know what to make of this thing he had with John, but friend seemed like the easiest way to explain it.

"You don't have friends. You tell nasty lies on the people who try to be your friend."

Sherlock closed his eyes and willed himself not to speak. He didn't want to leave the practice but he knew if he stayed things with Thomas would only get more uncomfortable. Sherlock was just about to stand, when he felt a hand on his knee.

"Shipton, you and your mates need to leave." John's voice was firm.

"What are you on about Watson?" Thomas was instantly angry.

"It's a closed practice, and I want you off my pitch."

"Closed? And what makes you think you can make me leave?"

"Aside from the fact that I have a whole rugby team behind me? Me. I, can make you leave." The steel in John's voice was now unmistakable. Thomas heard it too.

"This is bollocks. Gentleman let's go, leave the queer to his practice." Thomas nearly spat the words at John and Sherlock.

"Bi." John grinned and waved at Thomas and his friends as they left.

"You didn't have to do that." Sherlock tried not to smile, but having John help him felt too good.

"Yes I did. You were about to leave me. And we can't have that." John stood one step below Sherlock putting them at eye level.

Sherlock took this opportunity to drink John in. His sun gold skin, wind burnt cheeks, tousled hair, and sparkling ocean blue eyes. He was handsome. John felt the heat of the scrutiny and it made him bold. He leaned close to Sherlock's slightly up turned face. "I can't wait to kiss you."

"Captain, my captain!" Three of John's teammates effectively broke the mood.

"I think they mean you." Sherlock said with a beautiful smile.

"I'm going to work them like dogs!" John winked at Sherlock and ran full tilt back on the pitch yelling. "I've got your captain right here boys!"

11pm Ruskin Park, covered walk. A small fire burned in what looked to be some kind of metal bowl. There was writing on the ground in front of the fire.

~Form A Circle~

~Three Truth Limit~

~The Circle Will Go Around Five Times~

~The First Person Here Ask The First Truth Or Dare~

~Burn Your Flyers~

~11:15 Begin~

The air of mystery hung all around. Irene had arrived to a group of twelve that grew to a mir twenty. The students were varied, and there seemed to be no discernible pattern. The questions and dares were random and all of what was to be expected from college students. By the end of the night Irene had given her bra to a lovely ginger girl she didn't know, there had been one strip tease, two silly dances, one slap, an exposed bum, a set of licked toes, and one young man had been outed as gay.

"As I said, uni fun. Nothing more sinister then that." Irene said from her perch on the desk.

Sherlock lay on his bed, legs crossed eyes closed and blew smoke into the air. "No. Something's not right. Everything is too theatrical. Too staged. Who got slapped?"

"A boy named Albus something, a first year. But there was no malice in it. He was laughing almost immediately after. The girl who slapped him was topless."

"Hum. And the young man who was outed? Was he upset?"

"James Harper. Third year. American. He didn't seem overly bothered by it. Now can we please talk about your night?" Irene lit another cigarette.

"It dose seem that not much occurred. But I have a feeling we're building towards something. Something wicked this way comes."

"And Shakespeare just rolled over in his grave and flipped you off! Can we please get to the smut?!"

Sherlock laughed at her impatience. "Well considering he and I haven't gotten to the smut yet, I'll have to say no. He walked me back to my flat, asked if I would come to his match tomorrow and we said good night."

"God help me! Just grab the man and kiss him already!" Irene jumped off the desk yelling and prancing around the room.

"I want to I really do, but whenever I'm closed to him, when he's near me, I'm so, he's just. Mesmerizing. Fuck." Sherlock sat up wide eyed as the depth of his feelings struck him.

"Eloquently put." Irene said flippantly. Sherlock threw a pillow at her head.


	3. Chapter 3

The next round of flyers was found the following morning. Taped to doors in the night, with no more then twenty recipients. Time and location remained the same. Sherlock had kept track of the last players to see if anything unusual happened to any of them. It had. James Harper, suddenly went back to America.

"Honestly you don't find it a bit strange that a third year from the states just abandons everything and leaves unannounced. His friends said he hadn't said a word about leaving. Quite the opposite in fact. They say he went to see the dean and oh...!"

"What?" Sherlock's sudden pause made Irene jerk her attention back to him.

"Not sure. I need to think." Sherlock pushed his cup aside and made to stand.

"I don't think so." Irene tilted her head in the direction of the coffee shop door where John had just come in with a cold wind behind him. He caught Sherlock's eye and made a beeline for him.

"Mind if I join you?" John smiled down at Sherlock.

"You do know I exist right? I mean you can see me here, next to him." Irene looked baffled.

"Yes Irene. I see you there. But just barely." John offered her his best smile.

"Sit John, and don't pay Irene any attention."

"Hadn't planned on it." John said nicely.

Irene rolled her eyes. "Oh you two twats are perfect for each other."

"I agree. Now if only I could convince him." John reach across the table for Sherlock's hand. Sherlock didn't pull away.

Sherlock gave Irene an incredulous look. "And what would you know of us being perfect for one another?"

"You're not really asking are? Because if you are I could go on for days! For starters neither one of you can even see anyone else when the others around. Posh boy here goes all deep voice and bashful at the sight of you, and you Dr. Watson, exhibit the most seductive bed side manner I've ever had the pleasure to witness. Just shag already." Irene blew Sherlock a kiss and winked at John as she went out to smoke ignoring his murderous glare.

"I think I like that." John grinned.

"What is it exactly that you think you like?" Sherlock asked.

John laughed at the poorly concealed jealousy in Sherlock's rich tone. "Posh boy. It fits. Speaking of fits. I have something for you." John pulled a soft wrapped bundle from his bag.

"John...I'm not very good with gifts, giving or receiving..."

"It's not a gift, it's something you need if you're going to be out there in the cold watching me play." Sherlock opened the plane brown paper bundle.

"Is it a kitten?! Oh please say it's a kitten!" Irene twaddled as she returned from the cold.

"If kittens are made of blue cashmere then yes Irene, it is in fact a kitten. Thank you so much John. It's...perfect."

John stood took the plush blue scarf and looped it around Sherlock's neck, letting his fingers deliberately brush the slider column causing a visible shaver in the younger man. John smile at the reaction he had won. John leaned in speaking the words close to Sherlock's ear. "Now it's perfect." And brushed a kiss to his cheek. "See you at the game. Goodbye Irene." Sherlock felt a heat rise in his face.

"Goodbye Dr. Watson." Irene nodded her approval.

Sherlock watched John blaze across the pitch and was stunned. Sherlock never would have thought that he could find John any more attractive then he already did. He had been abundantly wrong. Watching him practice was one thing, but seeing him play caught up in the frenzy of the game, the power and the agression, the leadership, and control. John was the picture of male beauty. Watching John in his element on that failed sacred Sherlock to death. This man was so far beyond his knowledge. So out of his lègue. Sherlock had to stop this before he found himself in ruins.

"Irene. I can't." Sherlock tugged on Irene's coat sleeve as she was standing up making some sort of lud gesture to the apposing team.

"What are you on about?" Irene sat, took a drink from her flask and passed it to Sherlock who took it without question.

"He'll tear me apart. I can't survive John Watson. I can't." Sherlock shoved the flask back in her hand and particularly ran from the field before she could say a word.

Irene followed as quickly as she could. Once outside the pitch, Sherlock wasn't hard to spot. "Sherlock you stop this instant! Sherlock! I know you hear me!" Irene was being flat out ignored. "William Sherlock Scott Holmes!" That did the trick. Sherlock whipped around to glare at her. "You forced my hand so don't give me that bloody look!"

"I don't want to talk Irene Isabella Elizabeth Adler!" Sherlock threw the words at her.

"Stop being petty! I don't care who knows my name, and I don't give a damn if you want to talk! I'm not going to let you muck this up!"

"Irene he'll destroy me! If I saw this exact scenario playing out in front of me I would call myself a fool and you know it!"

"Stop this Sherlock! He's not Thomas! I know how badly Thomas hurt you, I know that he was lovely to you behind closed doors. And I know how betrayed you felt when he denied you in public. But John Watson, is not Thomas Shipton. Will John break your heart? Maybe. I don't know. But he'll never betray you. He's mad about you. And you're mad about him. Don't let that pass."

"Take the chance?"

"Yes." Irene released a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding.

Sherlock stared at her a long moment worrying his bottom lip. "No." He left without another word.

Irene went back to the pitch. The game had ended with a win for the Kings Men, and John though happy for the his team and the win, Irene could see him searching the stands with disappointed eyes. Once they fell on her they headed towards each other.

"John I'm sorry. He's left. He's scared to death. He just needs time to think." Even as Irene said the words she knew that that was the last thing Sherlock needed to do. Given time he would rationalize a million different bullshit reasons to run away. "Sod this. Talk to him. He's a fool John and he's scared."

"Scared. He's a grown man!" John was upset and disappointed.

"Yes he is. A grown man with limited knowledge in relationships who lost his virginity to a prick who publicly shamed him as a lying fagot."

John's reaction was visceral. The urge to vomit was nearly overwhelming. Unable to speak. Too many emotions rushed through him. First of which was a murderous rage for Thomas Shipton. Second was anger at himself for being blind to the obvious. Third was a fierce determination. Sherlock was precious, and if it took a life time John would make certain he knew it. He smiled to him and started to leave. Irene was confused.

"So that's it? You're just done?"

"Hell no! I'm ass over teakettle for him." John's smile was spread across his face and he ran off without a second glance.

Irene rolled her eyes and stared after John's back."And that's why I like girls."

John looked at the clock above the bar for the bezillonth time and went back to watching his teammates enjoying their win, drunk laughing and singing and wished he were somewhere else. With someone else. With Sherlock. After talking with Irene it had been hard to come to the pub and celebrate, yet as team captain he had a duty to his mates, and so he sat. But some how every thought led back to the gorgeous young man and how much John wanted to simply be with him. In his presence. This thing between them it felt like...madness. To think of Sherlock made John's heart ache in the most beautiful way. It felt like...oh God. Oh fuck.

Greg took a seat next to John.

"You look like you've seen a ghost mate." Greg sat a fresh pint in front of John.

"Greg, I think I'm in trouble. " John sounded genuinely worried.

"Sherlock?" Greg asked.

"Yep." John's gaze was far off.

"What's the plan then?"

"No idea."

"How bad?"

"As bad as it gets."

Greg finally turned to look at his friend. "Maybe you just need to get him out of your system, yeah?"

John made a sound that could pass for a laugh. "Hell I'm afraid to even touch him."

"What?! You mean you haven't shagged him senseless yet?"

"Nope."

"Shit." Greg said in a reverent whisper.

"Yep."

"John..." Greg had been friends with John since primary school and he knew John as well as he knew himself. John was most certainly in trouble.

"Told you." John threw back the rest of his pint and stood up. "I leave you in charge of the the boys. Don't let Pipin get out of hand and make sure Seth gose home with Liam."

"And where are you going?"

"Quite possibly to make a fool of myself."

"Right then." Greg raised his glass.

"Cheers."

Sherlock lay on his bed in the dark going over every second he'd spent with John Watson. Each one more prized then the last. Oh but the risk. With Thomas there had been pain, but mostly of pride. With John there would be so very much more. How had he let himself fall this far on so little. The thought of letting John in teetered between terrifying and thrilling.

A knock at the door broke Sherlocks considerations.

"Go away!" Sherlock yelled.

"Sherlock." John called through the door.

Sherlock's eyes flew open and before he knew what was doing he'd rushed to the door. "John, I thought you'd be with your team."

"Can I come in." John's voice was low and intensity radiated from him.

"What do you want John?" Sherlock didn't trust himself.

"I want you. To just...be with you." His honesty was raw.

"To what end?"

"To no end."

Sherlock started to close the door. He was afraid. But not of John. Of himself and his overwhelming desire to let this man in. Not in his flat, in his life. His heart. His mind. His bed. To just have John flood his world.

"I know what Thomas did to you. I know why you don't trust me. But I'm not him and I won't hurt you. Ever. I'm a good man."

"Not a very modest one."

"Modesty is overrated. Please."

He opened the door and let John pass.

They turned to face one another seemingly pushed together by the darkness, a soft yellow glow from the street cast shadows in the trace of distance left between them. John couldn't seem to find enough air and his chest heaved, Sherlock moved close looking down at John silently asking...

"John." Pure honey. It flowed into Johns very soul.

"I have never...wanted anything the way I want you. But I will not touch you until you give me permission." John was solemn.

"Kiss me."

"Oh God." The words rushed out of John as a shaky exhale. To any on looker John would have appeared nervous. His breath was quick and he was nearly vibrating. But he was far from nervous. He was burning alive. His need to devour Sherlock was so great, John clenched and unclenched his hands at his sides trying to find some calm.

"Will you make me beg?" The question was innocent enough and yet...

John slid one hand down to the small of Sherlock's back, the other firmly on the side of his neck as his thumb moved along Sherlock's jawline. "One day...yes. But not today."

Sherlock moaned low into John's mouth as their kiss became a firestorm. Both being drawn into the blaze, caught up in the current. Clothing seemed to burn away. Once naked John rubbed his harsh stubble cheek over Sherlock's pale skin, leaving a trail of pink across his chest down his abdomen to the edge of dark curls. Sherlock yielded his body to John's desire and skill. And oh what skill it was. John left Sherlock smoldering over and over one well pleased kiss away from inferno.

"John I need you." Sherlock's voice raspy, his hands screeching, digging into flesh, thin fingers finding John's satin hot rock hard length. They both jerked at the touch. Sherlock felt his stomach roll and his own cock quiver. "Let me have you." He tugged gently. Possessively.

Sherlock used his voice to advantage. John groan and very nearly came in Sherlock's hand. John needed to talk but could barely form one word.

"Condom." John said the word in hot breath against the inside of Sherlock's thigh.

Sherlock produced a condoms from the nightstand. "This time. But not forever."

John smiled at forever, and soon they were lost to a fire that was impossible to control. Sherlock rocked into John's thrust seeking the center of the storm together. John's body spasmed deep inside Sherlock and brought the younger man a shuttering climax.

John lay against Sherlock's chest, still inside him, Sherlock's long legs loosely wrapped around John, both light headed floating and dangerously close to speaking the words that had led them to this moment. Sherlock ran his hands down John's back and smacked his bottom as he disentangled himself. John watched him walk across the room with unconscious grace. Sherlock came back to bed with a clean flannel. John jerked at Sherlock's intimate touch. "You were perfect." Sherlock kissed John's chest.

"I was just thinking the same thing. You know I can never let you go now." Sherlock smiled softly at John's words. "I mean it." He did.

"So. Forever then." Sherlock kissed him again, and let his hand wonder.

"Forever then. You need to stop that or we'll never get any sleep tonight." John tried not to jut his hips into Sherlock's touch.

"Oh darling, sleep was never an option." Sherlock's voice rumbled against John's shaft as he took him in his mouth.


	4. Chapter 4

John shut the door quietly, trying not the wake the sleeping beauty he had just kissed goodbye. He turned with a broad smile across his face and slammed right into Irene.

"Morning." Still too high for full on sentences.

"You're not trying to run out on my friend after taking advantage of him are you?" Irene arched an eyebrow.

"No. God no. Not my style. And even if it were, never with him. He's sleeping." John winked and headed off.

Irene let herself in and sat about making the loudest cup of tea possible. When subtle clanging didn't do the job she dropped the empty kettle on the floor. Sherlock's eyes cracked open his voice heavy. "I hate you."

"Oh good morning sunshine. I didn't see you there." She bounced over to the bed and squatted down to eye level with Sherlock. "You can tell me how much you hate me over the full english. Right after you give me every single torrid detail about you and John Watson."

"And why would I do that?" Sherlock sat up in a huff and shooed Irene away.

"Because. I'm your BFF silly."

"Wow." Irene whistled.

"Yeah. Was lovely. He's lovely." Sherlock said wistfully. Irene swallowed a laugh."Oh shit! And I'm a sappy idiot who's going to be late for chemistry lab."

"Least you've got a good reason for your tardiness."

"And what would that be?" Sherlock asked gathering up his scarf and glover.

"Your brains been rattled." Irene giggling and dogged a smack.

"Piss off and meet me after class, so we can find out who got flyers this round."

"Yes detective." She gave a salute from her chair.

Sherlock ran into John who was rushing between classes. They hungrily grabbed each other and snogged in a doorway for a good five minutes before breaking apart to smile between small kisses.

"We're going to be late." Still kissing.

"Obviously."

"Don't you care? I know how important your studies are to you." John tried to speak but kissing was more important.

"Studying something else right now." Sherlock kissed and John giggled.

"I love...ahh...I love being studied. " John narrowly missed blurting out words that he's sure would send the younger man running in the opposite direction.

Sherlock gives John a look that is both knowing and questioning at once.

"Later?"

"Yes please."

They bump noses and brush kisses and reluctantly part, and head to their perspective classes.

Sherlock completes his experiments early and sits in on Irene's aicent history class.

"So, yours or mine?" Irene takes the proffered cigarette while they stand outside the lecture hall.

"Always mine. Your roommates an idiot." Irene just laughed in agreement.

"I've got seven names, top that!" Irene said triumphantly.

"Ten." Sherlock blew smoke in her face and smiled.

Irene fanned her vision clear with her hand. "Fine. So three unknowns."

"I need to know if there are any repeat players. That person is most likely the one pulling the strings, and if not then they're someone's point man. We need those names."

"Sherlock, what on earth makes you think there's anything nefarious going on? I mean...I'll never not help...just tell me where all this is coming from." Irene flopped back and hung her head over the edge of the bed jet black curls pooling on the floor. Sherlock got up and crossed to the kitchenette to turn off the screaming kettle and make tea.

"Honestly? It's simply the bloodhound in me. I *know* something's off about this whole game. There's more to it then a group of college kids having a laugh. And as my BFF you'll just have to trust me." Sherlock winked at her and huffed as he waited for her to sit upright and passed her her tea.

"Well I guess we have to get those names then. Cheers."

"Cheers. Now have one for the road, and get out. John's coming."

They giggled like school girls and drink up.

John was stretched out on Sherlock's bed with one arm under his head and the other wrapped around Sherlock's shoulders. Sherlock lay in the crook of John's arm drunk from Johns warmth and lulled by his deep even breathing drifting somewhere between wake and sleep when his mobile resting in his hand in the middle of John's chest gave a loud and insistent buzz. Sherlock blinked at the screen for a moment, not understanding. Three names staired back at him.

Paul D'Lacy

Jo Pan

John Watson

Sherlock sat up. "You have an invitation to the truth or dare." It was a statement not a question.

"Yes." John answered without opening his eyes.

"You weren't going to tell me." Also not a question.

"No I wasn't, but not because I was trying to keep it from you." John opened his eyes now and sat up on his elbows concerned that he was about to have his first row with Sherlock.

"No. I know you weren't." Sherlock put his hand back on John's chest for reassurance.

"Did you want to go?" John wrapped his fingers around Sherlock's hand.

"No. Well yes. But not for the reason you think. I believe that there's more to this game, somethings wrong, you wouldn't understand"

"Ok. What can I do to help?"

"You would help me with this and you don't even know what it is?" Sherlock was shocked.

"You really don't know how relationships work do you?" John shook his head. "Yes I'll help you, in this and in all things. Without question."

Just then Sherlock's mobile blared for more attention.

~Isn't Paul D'Lacy, Thomas's current rent boy? *He* was at the first one~

AI-

"John I need you to go to that game. I believe it's important that I know everything that takes place from start to finish." Sherlock was urgent.

"Right. Come with me?" John layed back down and beckoned to Sherlock who joined him.

"I can't. I don't want to disrupt the natural progression of whatever this is. Me showing up without an invitation may do just that, and I'll frighten away architect of this whole thing."

"Brilliant." John said and kissed Sherlock's curls.

"Was nothing." Sherlock purred.

The truth or dare followed the same rules as had the one before it. With one notable difference. D'Lacy, seemed to take a passive approach at running the game. Giving suggestions and goading players in the direction he wanted. John was not an admirer of anything fake, so when presented with it, it seemed glaringly obvious to him. Most of the truths and dares where centered around something sexual or secret or both. Some were silly, take all your kit off and put it back on upside down, sing your favorite childhood cartoon theme song in character. But the majority were the former and not the latter. John didn't know what the end game was, but he had to agree with Sherlock. Something was off. The last dare of the night was a young woman named Netty Gilmore. Paul dared her to run through the ad-mit building naked. She stripped, was given a very small blanket to wrap in, and was told to live stream it as she went. Everyone watched on their mobiles as the deed was done. Netty, returned to a cheering crowd high off adrenaline, she put her kit back on and the night came to an close as the players left one by one. When only John and Paul remained John ventured a question.

"So, can I be invited to the next one too?" Paul looked up from burning his flyer with too pale eyes.

For a moment Paul, gave John an odd twitchy look like a bird, giving his eyes an even more disturbing quality that made John's skin crawl.

"John Watson." He said John's name as if it were attached to some great mystery. "No. It doesn't work that way. Or I don't think it dose, this is not my project."

"Project?" John questioned. Paul, just looked at him again in that jerky sideways way he had, before walking off.

Later that night John and Irene talked over the events. Sherlock lay on the bed his fingers steepled resting lightly on his lips, eyes shut, naked feet in John's lap.

"There was just this...almost sinister undertone the whole time. I don't know maybe it's just the location." John rubbed Sherlock's feet absently.

"Ruskin Park is an eerie place at the best of times, without all the clandestine trappings." Irene said from her desktop perch.

"I have a working theory." Sherlock broke in suddenly and a little too loudly.

"Alright then. Let's hear it." John said pulling Sherlock's toes playfully.

Sherlock squirmed and tried not to giggle.

Irene rolled her eyes and smiled at the pair.

"As I said 'working theory'. But if I'm correct, we should have our answer tomorrow and all should be obvious even to the two of you." John half frowned half smiled and plucked Sherlock's pinky toe. Irene threw a crumpled piece of paper at his head, and all three laughing when it hit its mark square in Sherlock's forehead.


	5. Chapter 5

"Netty Gilmore has been expelled." Sherlock exploded through the door, startling John and Irene, who'd been lazily waiting for him to return.

"What?" Both John and Irene came to life at once.

"Remember when Dean Greyson, told me if he could rid the world of my kind it would be a better place?" Sherlock's hair was wind blown and his face pink and he could hardly catch his breath between words.

"Vividly. It was right after you exposed his affairs. I thought he was going to kick you out on your ares that very second or strangle you to death."

"He would have, had my insufferable, meddling brother not told him at my administration that, under no circumstances was my expulsion to ever be so much as considered."

"His brother's not the commonwealth." Irene whispered behind her hand conspiratorially.

"So I've heard." John answer in the exact same way.

"Helloo! Break in the case!" Sherlock snapped his fingers between the two of them.

"Right. Sorry love. Go on. We'll behave." John tried to look contrite but it was hard with Irene silently laughing and pointing at him from behind Sherlock's back.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Dean Greyson, and Thomas, are trying to root out and get rid of 'my kind', Paul is the link between the two, I'm sure of it."

"Why would those two conspire?" Irene asked.

"Aside from the fact that they both hate me? No idea. I have yet to find the connection. Need more data. What we need is another truth or dare."

"Could we force one some how?" John questioned.

"I don't see how." Irene responded, Sherlock was already retreating into his mind to find the connection between Greyson, and Thomas.

"We could make our own flyers!" This time it was John and Sherlock who spoke excitedly in tandem, causing them to break into bubbling laughter that dissolved into kissing, that was fast becoming...

"Ugh, boys? Hello! Hello! I'm still in the room. I'm still in the ro...oh sod this!" Irene, hopped off the desk and practically bolted for the door making her escape just as the first article of clothing hit the floor.

Irene walked back to her rooms at an unhurried pace without her long legged companion by her side. Enjoying the slow stroll and the chance at a solitary cigarette. She blew smoke rings and smiled to herself glad at her friends bravery. John was a good man for Sherlock and she was happy they had found each other. She worried about Sherlock. He had been lonely, even if he hadn't known it himself, and that had made him vulnerable to the likes of Thomas, in the first place. John was confident, strong and unafraid to love openly and fully. He was just what the doctor ordered. Irene smile grew even broder at her pun. Her thoughts were interpreted by an irksome voice from too close behind her. Thomas Shipton.

"Where are you off too Adler?" Thomas came up beside her.

"Oh I don't know. Maybe...Buckingham palace. Never too late to pop in on the Queen, have a nice cuppa." Her tone was causal but she felt anything but. Thomas was a vile man. Outwardly he was lovely. Tall but not imposing, olive green eyes with flecks of gold and sandy blond hair. Just lovely. And vile. Like a brightly colored snake. The thought made Irene chuckle out loud.

"Speaking of the queen, where is Sherlock?" Thomas thought himself clever. He always thought he was clever, rarely was he right.

"None of your business I'd imagine." Her tone was cool. Thomas did not like her answer. Or her really. Or was it woman in general?

"Well I was merely concerned after his well being, I've heard of a couple of fags getting ruffed up recently and naturally my thoughts turned to him."

"Naturally." Irene's tone didn't falter.

"I would just hate to see that pretty face of his bashed in." Thomas was almost laughing.

Irene stopped dead. She held Thomas with her gaze for a long moment. "I think we're done here."

"Not quite. Tell your little boyfriend that he's been on my mind lately, and its been too long since I bumped into him."

"Not my boyfriend. You may want to see John Watson on that score though." Irene enjoyed the look of shock on Thomas's face, before it turned to a twisted rage. He grabbed Irene hard by her upper arm and pulled her up on her tip toes.

"You lier!" He snarled. But his anger turned to fear when he felt Irene press her taser to his groin.

"I. Think. We're. Done. Here!" Irene glared at Thomas's hand still clasped tight on her arm. "You let me know if we're not."

Thomas jerked away from Irene and half threw her back in the process, she stumbled but did not fall.

"Tell John..." Thomas spoke in a snarl.

"Fuck you! And tell him yourself. That is if you're not afraid."

"Afraid." Thomas scoffed and turned to leave.

"Thomas!" He stopped and looked back at a still very pissed Irene "Never touch me again."

"We should call Irene and tell her it's safe to come back." John said lazily running his hand through Sherlock's curls.

"Is it?" Sherlock purred laying on John's chest.

"Well maybe for an hour or two, but I wouldn't bet on it." They kissed deep and slowly breathing each other in and loving the feeling of falling together. They broke apart and took some time to just smile and reveal in the moment, in this bubble that had been created by their growing feelings.

"I think I'll just see were she ran off to." Sherlock rolled to his back and began to text.

"Good idea. Tea?" John was already up.

"Mmm." Was Sherlock's only answer, John felt it was a solid yes and sat about making two cups.

-You ran off as if you'd never seen two blokes

shagg before-

SH-

~Not in the flesh. And not two blokes I know~

AIEI~

-Where did you end up then Windsor Castle, with William

wrapped around you're little finger?-

SH-

~You do recall I fancy girls?~

AIEI-~

-I also seem to recall you're quite the opportunist, and I

do believe you feel that someone (male or female)

owes you a title. Really where did you go? It's early?-

SH-

~Back at my room. I ran into a spot of bother and decided

make it an early night.~

AIEI~

"John, I'm sorry it's Irene." Sherlock climbed out of bed and found his clothes mingled in with John's on the floor.

"Is she ok? I'll come with you." John sat down the cups and grabbed his trousers.

"Fine. I think. But I need to make sure, face to face. She's a good lier. But I'd like it if you stayed...until I came back. Maybe for the the night." Sherlock had to go see about Irene, but he wanted to make sure John stayed put first.

"Of course. Whatever you want love. But call if you need me." He stood on tip toe and kissed Sherlock goodbye. Sherlock blushed and left.

"Hey Sherlock!" A pretty dark hued girl leaned in the door frame. "Please say you're here to see me. At last." Irene's roommate the admittedly very beautiful yet also very annoying American named...

"Lidia, please do try to be less irritating." Irene picked up her coat and brushed past her, grabbing Sherlock by the sleeve on her way out.

Out in the crisp night air Sherlock lit a cigarette, took a long pull, and passed it to Irene.

"So, did this spot of bother have a name?" Sherlock though he'd give her the chance to tell him the whole story before he told it to her himself.

"God Sherlock! I'm no damsel in distress!" Irene flicked ash at him.

"Damsel in distress? Oh please woman! You are the distress! And if Shipton, has any sense of self preservation he'd stay away from you." Sherlock snatched the cigarette from her lips.

"Sadly he doesn't have the brains God gave a squirrel. One because he put his hands on me, (oh don't give me that look, I handed it effectively.) two the fool thinks I'll covey messages to you, and three he claimes to not be the least bit concerned about John Watson. He's mental."

"John has nothing to do with this." Sherlock said softly not wanting to have John tangled up in the ugliness. "And I don't think Thomas is out to physically hurt me. None of the other participants were harmed in that way and I can't see why I would suffer a dissimilar fate."

"Oh my dear boy you simply being you is exactly why your fate will differ. Thomas has a special type of hatred for you. You were the irresistible force that tugged at his sexuality." Irene took back the cigarette squinted her eyes and pointed a warning finger at Sherlock.

Sherlock wouldn't say so but he knew that Irene was right. Caution maybe necessary. "What was his message?"

"That you have been on his mind. And it's been too long since he bumped into you. You should know that I let slip about you and John."

"Let slip? Please you've been dying to shout it from the rooftops." Sherlock accused her.

"So have you!" Irene countered.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Sherlock took back the cigarette took the last pull and flicked it away with a flippant jut of his chin.

Irene laughed and shook her head. "You'd best get back to John, you two seem to run out of oxygen if you're apart too long."

Sherlock contemplated this and just nodded in response.

"Irene." Sherlock looked distressed and unsure. "I want to keep John out of this if I can."

"Alright. But I don't think you get to make that call. John loves you, has for a long time I think, and he's not the type of man to let you stand alone."

Sherlock had a decision to make. John most certainly would not let him stand alone if there were farther issue with Thomas. So the question Sherlock put to himself was this, was it selfish of him to carry on with John knowing Shipton's plan, knowing that it could destroy John's future? Sherlock didn't want to end things with John, but being the cause of his ruin was unthinkable. So decision make.


	6. Chapter 6

John sat in the middle of Sherlock's bed legs India style, dressed in nothing but his pants just as Sherlock had left him. John looked up from his copy of "Gray's Anatomy" to see Sherlock shed his coat and gloves.

"You're back sooner then I'd expected."

Instead of giving John a response, Sherlock held his gaze and continued to shed more clothing. He didn't trust himself to speak knowing that his time with John was coming to an end. He pulled his button up free from his from his jeans and toed off his shoes.

John let go a breath he hadn't known he was holding and licked his lips.

Sherlock undid his jeans and looked up at John through his lashes as he bent over and slowly slid his hands first over the lush curve of his ass down the backs of his thighs and over muscular calfs until he stood there in a pair of black boxer briefs that John was certain were illegal. Sherlock bit at the corner of his lower lip, he made quite the show of slipping his too long fingers into the waistband of his briefs and sliding them far too slowly over the growing bulge of his cock.

John sucked in a long hiss of air through his teeth at the sight of Sherlock's cock bobbing with anticipation.

John's hand involuntary moved to grab his own fully swollen erection. Sherlock winced at the gesture as if the two members were one. Sherlock rushed forward, John rose to meet him. Their bodies came together hot and hard, need the driving force. Sherlock wrapped long arms behind John and slid his hands into John's pants, Sherlock's large hands pressed John's firm ass bringing their cocks hard and close together. But not close enough. John let his head fall forward and rest on Sherlock's collar bone, John's teeth soon found sensitive flesh, followed by his lips and tongue Sherlock moaned like a rumble of thunder and rocked and pressed John closer still, working his pants off in the process. All the while John's hands mirrored Sherlock's. Sherlock felt John large and full against his belly now.

"You're sooo hard, oh God!" Sherlock whimpered. His words made John shutter. Sherlock ran his hands from Johns ass up, to brush over his cock and up still more to John's chest where he stopped to tease at John's nipples with his thumbs. Sherlock studied John as his face contorted and his muscles jerked under his hands. Sherlock's heart ached. He loved this man. And this was goodbye. Sherlock took John's face in his hands and rubbed their cheeks together, letting his lips ghost over John's open pleading mouth nipping and licking at John's lips.

"Sherlock." John was dizzy and vaguely confused. But one thing was crystal clear. This man was a force of nature. John was sure he'd never been this lost to another human being. So totally consumed. "Sherlock. I love you." So totally lost.

Sherlock took John's mouth and kissed him deeply before a sob of joy and mangled sadness escaped his own lips. The kiss was desperate, Sherlock was trying to give John all the love that swelled up in him that he would never be able to let John know he held.

He push John back onto the bed and covered him with the length of his body never breaking from John's lips. Sherlock wedged his knee between John's legs and brought his cock along side John's, satin hot hard as steel. John's back arched and he dug his fingers into Sherlock lush bottom, grinding their hips, their cocks together.

"Holy hell." John was losing it.

Sherlock reached his hand down between their bodies and wrapped his hand as best he could around both their cocks, precum creating a beautiful maddening friction. John tried to squeezed his thighs together and pressed his head back into the pillow, rocking his hips into Sherlock's fist. God, he was close. He had to break Sherlock's complete domination over him if he didn't want to cum in Sherlock's hand in the next five seconds. John shifted his hand reluctantly from Sherlock's perfect bottom, to run his middle finger down Sherlock's coccyx, down again to the tight ring of muscles, causing Sherlock's rythme on their cocks to falter just enough for John to gain control. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock's narrow frame and flipped him over with ease. Sherlock's breath came out in a rush of surprise. John sat back on his heels and pulled Sherlock into his lap spreading his legs wide. John sucked his middle finger wet and pushed inside Sherlock's wanton quivering body, Sherlock bucked into the pleasure with a long low moan.

"OooohGodJohnYesss."

John then licked his palm and cupped the head of Sherlock's cock, rubbing slick and precum from head to root. Sherlock white knuckled fist fulls of bed sheets. Two more fingers joined the first, Sherlock jerked his hips erratically fucking into John's palm in a panting frenzy. John teased and twisted his thumb and fingers lightly around and over the swollen purple head of Sherlock cock. John was aching, his own cock so hard it hurt, leaking wet down to his balls.

"Oh God fuck yes please!" Sherlock was perfect and beautiful in his desire. John couldn't wait another second. Sherlock didn't want him to. John shifted to his knees, his fingers bitting into Sherlock's boney hip bones and began the slow push of his cock into Sherlock's slick heat.

"More. More. Please John more."

John only too eager to comply, buried his cock to the hilt and nearly came as the blinding pleasure coursed through his body.

"Jesus." John hiss rolling his hips into Sherlock who jutted up to deepen each thrust. John braced his forearms on either side of Sherlock's head and kissed and marked a hot path over Sherlock's neck, and collar bones, ghosting words of love and forever over his rose hued skin, driving rhythmically and hard into Sherlock's center.

"More John, oh please God John, more. !" Sherlock brought his knees up level with John's shoulders, reached down and splayed his hands on John's bottom, gripping, grinding, feeling John's muscles work at a feverish pace.

"Yes love. Fuck yes love." John was tangled in Sherlock's arms and legs and both of their savage need. Sherlock was lost to a world that was nothing but John and more and please, please, please.

John reached his hand between them and ran his fingers over the head of Sherlock's cock, ready to take him in his fist and stroke Sherlock to release, but one touch of John's hand was all the spark that was needed. Sherlock ached sharply, violently, tears streamed into his curls, his fingers digging mercilessly into John's shoulders and John's name ripped from his throat. White hot cum spilled over John's fingers, onto Sherlock's belly and down his shaft. John lost his rhythm, his breath, and his mind at the primal beauty of the sight. He rocked into Sherlock relentlessly, all the while Sherlock pulling John closer in the grip of his legs, arching up to him, giving him everything. John took everything, and pored himself, his soul, with a jerky shudder into Sherlock's depths.

John wrapped Sherlock tight in his arms and held him with a fierce need to never let go and fell into the deepest sleep of his life. Sherlock did not sleep, but lay there in John's arms cataloging every subtlety, every nuance of John. His breathing pattern, his soft snort, the way his dusky blond lashes rested in a curly fan, the way he said "Sherlock. I love you." He could not allow himself to replay those words, to feel their weight. Sherlock finally let sleep take him in the predawn hours, but he woak the second John stirred. Sherlock feigned sleep so as not to have to face John.

Sherlock lay motionless on his stomach, arms cradling his dark head of curls, the sheet just coming to rest at the lush curve of his milky white bottom. Everything just reaffirmed John's love.

"Sinful, gorgeous genius. I love you. God, how I love you."

Sherlock had to bite down on his quivering bottom lip to keep from sobbing.

John gently raked his fingers up the back of Sherlock's neck into his curls and kissed the prominent C7 vertebrae. Sherlock would have laughed at John's doctor like accuracy had his heart not been breaking.

As soon as John was out the door Sherlock folded in on himself clawed at his heart and screamed into his pillow.


	7. Chapter 7

Irene let herself in and stumbled into pitch blackness. She huffed and shut the door behind her. She stood in place and felt in her pocket for her cigarette lighter. She flicked it creating a small circle of light, lit her cigarette and turned to flick on the lights.

Sherlock lay in his bed, in an indistinguishable ball of blankets pillows and limbs.

"What drama is this then? And is John part of that mass?" Irene went to the window and flung the curtains wide, when Sherlock didn't move Irene knew this not his usual pout nor was John hidden beneath. So. She sat on the bed and waited. Sherlock's hand emerged from the mound he'd burrowed into. Irene passed him the cigarette without words despite her fire hazard concerns. Sherlock surfaced. A ceaseless stream of tears came from his red rimed eyes.

"Irene I've done a terrible thing."

Three days later...

"Why won't he talk to me?" The steel authority of John's voice did little to hide the underlying pain, or at least it didn't to Irene's ears. She had been dreading this conversation and avoiding John for days and by the sound of things with good reason.

"John. I'm sorry I don't know what to say." Irene wanted so much to hide from John's gaze, but she was no coward.

"Is it because I said I love him? Because I understand if he's not ready. It's fine. I mean..."

"You told him you love him? Oh God John, I'm so sorry. He believes that what he's doing is for the best."

"What's for the best? Tell me why he won't talk to me?! Dose this have anything to do with Shipton? Irene please. You're Sherlock's friend. You know what this is about."

"I do know, but as his friend, it's not my place to tell you. But I'll talk to him. And if it helps, I think he's making the biggest mistake of his life."

"Both our lives. And it doesn't."

She was going to kill Sherlock.

John wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Run the play again." John's voice was low gravel.

The entire team groaned and began to complain of sore limbs, and how they had run the play five times already and John was working them like the devil. There wasn't a clean one among them and most were at least a little bloody.

"Run. The Play. Again!" The captain of the Kingsmen was not a large man at 170 cm and 12 stone, but that was not to say he was to be tested, no John had an underlying brutality that surfaced on rare occasions and when it did it was frightening. Now was one of those occasions.

"John." Greg's words were slow and calming. "John can I have minute mate?"

"No." Flat. Angry.

"John." Calm, but firm.

John gave Greg a hard look that lasted all of three seconds. His friend was covered in muck, his lip was bleeding and even his jersey had suffered an injury. John's anger deflated and he turned to look at the rest of his team. Greg looked better then half of them.

"Call it. " John's shoulders slumped and he started off the pitch.

"Hit the locker room lads. Oi!" Greg hefted his and John's gear bags and jogged to catch up. "Talk." It wasn't a friendly suggestion.

"You know what it is. Why do we have to talk about?"

"Because you're killing your teammates and yourself." Greg passed John his bag.

"He's stopped talking to me all of a sudden. Not a word. Just shut me out. No explanation. I haven't even seen him around."

"What about Irene? I thought you two got on?"

"We do. Or we did. I don't know. But she would never give him up." John seemed defeated.

"She would if she knew what was at stake." Greg was solum.

"What?" John questioned.

"I've known you since we were nine. I'm willing to bet there isn't anything I don't know about you and the other way round, and I know this isn't like anything else. If I'm being honest, I was pretty sure you were done and off the pull for good."

"So was I." Sadly John looked at the ground.

"Right then. Let's fix this." Greg clapped John on the back.

"You need to talk to him!" Irene was furious.

"And tell him what exactly? 'I love you too John! With all my heart. And I don't give a damn if that loves ruins a career that you've been working towards since long before you ever lay eyes on me!' Tell him that? And oh by the by, I'm the most selfish git in England?"

"I don't give a damn what you tell him, but you sure as hell can't leave him in the dark like this! It's cruel even for you!" Irene knew she was being harsh, but she was fighting for (as much as she hated to say it) love. "This dose not involve just you Sherlock! John should get to decide what's most important to him!"

"So he can hate me for making him choose?" Sherlock was frantic.

"God damn it Sherlock! I'll tell him myself!" Irene was at her wits end with him.

"You wouldn't! And if you do I will never speak to you again!" Sherlock screamed in her face.

Irene calmly pulled out a cigarette and lit it. "Well that's a chance I'll just have to take, because I'm not going to let you fuck this up." She slammed the door on her way out.

Sherlock sat in the echo for a moment pissed that he hadn't gotten a cigarette before Irene had made her grand exit.

Fine. He would just have to go to the shops himself. Fine. Sherlock snatched the door open and was stunned to see a flyer for the next Truth or Dare taped to his door. Oh! The game was on.


	8. Chapter 8

Sherlock walked to Ruskin Park alone after texting Irene but warning her to stay away so as not to tanit the data. She agreed but not without a fight. Or a plan.

-Truth or Dare flyer left on my door. Headed there now. Still not talking to you-

SH-

~I'm so confused. Not talking doesn't usually work this way.

IIEA~

-Don't be dull woman!-

SH-

~Listen here you little twat! I haven't spoken to John *yet* but if you keep up this way, I'll go track him down right this minute. I'm trying to give you time to do the right thing~

IIEA~

-Irene, this is the right thing-

SH-

Irene could feel the heaviness of Sherlock's words through the text. She had to do something. She wasn't sure if Sherlock would actually stop talking to her if she went to John, but it really was a risk she was had to take. She couldn't call herself his friend if she allowed him to walk away from what she knew would be a full and happy life with John. And what the hell! She was after all quite the charmer, getting back into Sherlock's good graces shouldn't be all that hard.

Irene relayed the information to John.

Sherlock's strides carried him quickly toward his destination. All the while his mind raced with a bevy of possible scenarios for the evening, he was keyed up and ready for the game to begin. So running smack into John Watson at the far end of the covered walk had been nowhere on Sherlock's rader.

Sherlock skidded a bit in his efforts not to topple right over John as they clashed into each other. John steadied Sherlock by the shoulders holding him just short of arms length. John looked him in the eye and nodded. Sure he had Sherlock's attention he started to speak.

"So in all your infinite wisdom, you decided that you would do the noble thing and end our relationship so as to save my career?" John turned his head in what would seem to anyone else as a questioning gesture, but the squint of his midnight dark eyes told Sherlock this was not the case and quite was his best corse of action. "I've learned three things in the short time we've been together. I want you. First, last, and above all else. And you don't get to make a decision this important for me. If you end this, what we have, then you help Thomas achieve his goal. You of all people should see that."

Sherlock didn't even try to recover from the shock of running into John. He'd known it was coming. Had known Irene's mouth was far too big to keep quiet. And if he were being honest with himself he'd silently hoped, in the smallest of voices, from the dark corners of his heart that some force would push John his way. But just because John was here now, so close, smelling of coffee, and waxed cotton and leather, warm and masculine. Shit. This wasn't going to be easy. Sherlock had to try to stand his ground.

"And why would you choose me over a life you've planned for yourself. I'm just some...I don't know. Momentary distraction."

"Momentary...?" John paused, speechless for a split second at the absurdity of Sherlock's words. " You know I saw you the day you arrived. Two years ago. You stepped out of the back of something black and wildly expensive. You had a look of complete disdain. I could see a war of confidence and innocence on your face, and right then, right that very second you sucked all the light and sound out of my world. Since then I've been living in a vacuum of you. I tried to ignore it. You. You were 19, I was 24. It was indecent. And then it wasn't. So it's simple really. There *is* no choice. And no argument."

Sherlock blinked at John wordlessly. What the hell was this man made of? How had Sherlock gotten so lucky as to be loved by a man as determined as he?

"John." Sherlock had misses saying John's name out loud. "John, I need to get to this...ugh...the...I'm sorry, the truth or dare. Can we discuss this later?" Sherlock tried to hold up the flyer for emphasis.

"No. We can be together later, because there's nothing to discuss." John nodded and pulled Sherlock in for a kiss. It lingered almost spilling over into something else. John broke the kiss with a gentle suck, teeth pulling at Sherlock's bottom lip.

John released him. "Go on then. I won't be far." He stepped aside to usher Sherlock past.

The park was staged as usual. Sherlock stood in the shadows observing the students talking among themselves in hushed excited tones waiting on what they were not sure, but the wait was not long. Thomas and Paul arrived shortly. Sherlock couldn't help but think how much they looked like a couple, despite all of Thomas's bluster.

Everyone perched against the bricks or leaned on a railing, a few sat on the ground, Sherlock stepped out and attempted to merge with the rest of the crowd, but Thomas's eyes found him in an instant and cast Sherlock a look of smug nastiness that made his skin crawl.

Paul spoke first. "I'm sure you've all had a chance to familiarize yourselves with the rules plainly written on the ground here. So let's waste no time. Who would like to start us off?"

"I'll have a go." Sherlock felt his heart beat a little faster, time to engage the enemy. "Is it true, that you sat this whole thing up as a way to get back at me?"

"Sherlock Holmes." Paul said his in an exasperated tone. "So self centered as to believe that everything has to be about you!" Paul said the words as if they left a bad taste in his pretty mouth. Thomas laughed.

The rest of the students assembled for the game seemed to be a mix of confused, disinterested or mildly amused. Sherlock felt the hair on the back of his neck bristle as he felt more then heard John stir somewhere off behind him but still not visible.

Thomas shook his head as if disappointed in an small child.

"Sherlock, I've only ever tried to be a friend to you and yet you persist in trying to paint me as the villain. What a sad little life you must have. Now let me ask you a truth. Isn't it true that you fucked the entire rugby team at your old uni, and that's why you transferred to Kings?" Thomas smiled at the crowd around him seeking like minded assholes. Paul giggled into his hand. All else was silent.

What happened next was so quick that it was over before anyone had time to react. John came from nowhere and everywhere all at once. I loud crack rent the air and blood exploded from Thomas's nose. He howled, Paul moved to Thomas's side and tried to move Thomas's hands to see the damage.

"Get off me you fuckin queer! What's wrong with you people? All of you!"

Paul, recoiled, in shock and shame. Sherlock could see himself briefly in Paul's, destroyed expression. But only for a second. Because John stepped in and changed everything.

"Are you ok?" John couldn't help but place a hand to Sherlock's cheek.

Sherlock half laughed at John's worry over him. "John I'm fine. Thomas has an incredibly broken nose, shattered even. But I'm just fine John really."

John looked back at Thomas, who was trying in vain to stop the flow of blood from his nose and curse at the same time. "You'll pay for this Watson! I'll pay for it and so will that little fuck boy of yours!" Thomas spat the words at the two of them, edging closer, Sherlock could feel John clench and unclench his fist at Thomas's words, ready to finish what he had started, but Sherlock's steadying hand on John's for arm calmed him immediately. Sherlock tugged gently.

"John." Sherlock's eyes where pleading. "We should go."

Naturally John was powerless to deny Sherlock anything and walked silently with Sherlock up the walk, out of Ruskin Park and back to Sherlock's room.

"Now what?" John asked sitting at the foot of Sherlock's bed, while the younger man sat on the floor in front of him and wiped at the blood on the back of John's knuckles with a flannel realizing that none of it was actually John's.

"Now? I have no idea. You see dean Grayson is Thomas's uncle on his mother's side. That's their connection. That's why people like me have been forced out of Kings. How Thomas had the power to expose and then get rid of whoever he wished. And Grayson, was all too happy to help his nephew, since he already had cause to hate me for his own reasons. I deduced his affairs with two different men, on two different continents. It was never really proven, but it was true nonetheless. So what now indeed."

"Sherlock, I'm sorry."

"Don't be. He's exposed now. And after tonight I don't think anyone else will be in danger of being kicked out of Kings, simply because of who they love." Sherlock kissed John's red knuckles and ran his thumb lightly over the bruising. "Why did you punch him?"

"Because I wanted to." John smiled at the soft touch. "And because someone should have done it years ago"

"You're always...defending my honor." Sherlock's voice was a low roll.

John felt the rumbling vibration.

"No, I'm defending what's mine." John was smiling, but that didn't make the weight of his words any less true.

"So now I'm yours?" Sherlock was in a playful mood, having been away from John for what felt like a long time, being back in his presence now made Sherlock almost giddy.

"What? You've forgotten? It was a conversation we had right here in this bed." John toed off his shoes and scooted back up into the bed.

Sherlock shook his head in the negative making his curls bounce a little. "Nope. I recall no such things." John beckoned for Sherlock to join him. He shed his coat, and shoes and obliged, crawling up the bed to lay side by side nose to nose with John.

"Forever ring any bells?" John's voice was hushed. They were close enough to feel each other's heat, so close that their vision blurred to look at each other.

"Perhaps, a reminder is in order."

"Mmm." John dug his hand into Sherlocks curls and enjoyed the feel of soft curls and warm scalp.

Sherlock rolled his head into the touch his eyes fluttered closed and a soft moan slipped from his lips into John's mouth as he pulled Sherlock a fraction closer. There was no urgency, this was slow languid exploration. This was John learning Sherlock. Learning how to coax, the sweet sounds, and sharp breaths, that made his own pulse race. John pulled back and watched Sherlock blink and come back to the world. This was Sherlock surrendering to the pull of the sun, basking in the light and feed by warmth.

"John."

"Shut up. Just shut up." They managed to undress without leaving their sides. They lay there lost to the impossible beauty of what was.

"John." Sherlock let the name play on his lips for no other reason then to feel the mans name roll around his mouth. His hands wouldn't stay centered in Johns chest, instead they roamed as did John's. The action was almost innocent, both simply wanting to touch and be touched, be as near to the other as possible. Not able to get close enough, needing to breath the same air and occupy the same skin.

"I love you." John was well aware that his declarations of love may not be returned, but he couldn't care less. *He* loved Sherlock, with a certainty and clarity that was perfect in his eyes. "Don't say a word. I know, it's mad. I'm mad. Just...be...and let me be near you. " They kissed in between words and touch and so much more, content to be lost in a world that was all their own.

But the bitter pill of reality would not be denied.

Sherlock's mobile buzzed into the late night silence. Thomas. He quickly disentangled himself from a sleeping John and made his way to the fathers corner of the room before opening the text.

-Funny how plans change. I'd intended to to see you out on that perfect little ass of yours, but now. Now I think I'd rather see the ruin of John Watson and watch you suffer for it.-

Sherlock sank to the floor with his head in his hands digging his fingers into his curls defeated. How could he have let himself believe that some how this situation would work itself out in his favor? In their favor? He and John. And tho John had made his stance on the matter clear, Sherlock couldn't bare the thought of ruining the life of a man as extortionarty as John.

Sherlock hated himself for what he was about to do. But do it he must. He dressed swift and silent, picked up his shoes and paused. John. He lay on his back, his right arm above his head, his left out straight on Sherlock's pillow, his chest was bare with the covers coming to rest at his waist. Sherlock burnt the sight into his mind and created a space dedicated to all things John. Walking out was so much harder then it had been to let John leave. Walking out felt like betrayal. Sherlock reasoned that's because it was. John had been more then clear about his feelings and the fact that he was in no way interested in ending their relationship. But Sherlock simply could not believe that John would be able to love him once he took a good long fashionable look at all that Sherlock had cost him. And so he took one last look. He slipped his passport into his inside breast pocket and left.


	9. Chapter 9

This chapter is dedicated to a lovely mademoiselle, who had some welcome suggestions. I try to be the writer you all want me to be and that's why I look forward to all your comments. So to Larca Scorsa, I say thank you and I hope you enjoy.

"Well, well, well. Isn't this a turn up. I wasn't expecting you." The grin Thomas gave Sherlock was positivity slimy. "Do come in little lamb." Thomas made a flourish as he ushered Sherlock in.

"Lamb? Am I to assume it is to the slaughter?" Sherlock stepped in and looked about the room he once shared with Thomas. He felt an uneasy revulsion. So much had passed between them in this space that at one time had looked like love to Sherlock. John had taught him better.

"Why must you always think the worst of me? But no in answer to your question. Nothing so dramatic." Thomas had shut the door and was now leaning against it.

Sherlock stood in the center of the room feeling as if he needed to map his escape. "So what then?" He got right to the point not wanting to be alone with Thomas for any longer then necessary.

"You. I would have you. You are a splendid piece of ass." Thomas said wolfishly.

"And if I decline?" Sherlock's chin jutted up.

"You won't. If you'd planned on saying no, you wouldn't have come. "

It was true. Sherlock hadn't planned on saying no to Thomas's terms. If he could somehow save John, then he reasoned he would do whatever was necessary. But this sent waves of nausea into the pit of Sherlock's stomach and alarm bells blared in his head. This would taint all that he and John had been. This wouldn't save John, it would destroy him if he ever found out.

"No." The single word left Sherlock's lips so quickly he wasn't sure if he'd said it or just thought it. But from the look of outrage on Thomas's face he could see he'd voiced the word.

"Then John John, gets thrown out of Kings, just like all the rest of the freaks and yes, my uncle will make sure that he's turned away from every other uni in England. And if some how that doesn't work, so help me god if I have to spend every penny I own I'll make damn sure of it!"

"You do just that then. As I'm certain that you've already run to your uncle on John's behalf. I came to hear you say the words, to admit to me that you did all this as a way to get rid of all the people that you deam unfit, unworthy, or some how wrong. But know this Thomas, you are one of us. You are the very thing you loath, and your propositioning me only proves it further."

Sherlock knew that he was on dangerous ground now with Thomas, but danger was part of the game.

Thomas rushed Sherlock in anger and humiliation, he punched Sherlock hard in the jaw twice and threw his thin frame against the wall with enough force that Sherlock was momentarily stunned. Thomas was on him pressing a painful sloppy kiss to Sherlock's mouth and ripping at his clothing, trying to free his shirt from his trousers. Sherlock struggled against Thomas's rage pushed at his shoulders and kneed him in the nuts. Sherlock stumbled and rushed past, Thomas doubled over in pain, but powered by his anger he caught Sherlock by his coat pulling him back and down. Thomas righted himself to sit on Sherlock's hips. Sherlock knew that if Thomas strattled him the fight would be over. Thomas was strong and his anger gave him an advantage. Sherlock calmed and stopped struggling just enough to give Thomas the impression that he was beaten. That's when Sherlock struck. Hard right to the jaw, sending Thomas sprawling backwards. Again Sherlock went for the door, making it this time Sherlock ran. He made it to the safety of a little used staff loo. He took stock of himself. Nothing broken, just a bloody lip and what looked like yet another black eye. Damn it! Finally Sherlock checked the small audio recorded he'd had in his breast pocket. Perfect working order. Mycroft would see to the rest. He smiled and his split lip instantly made him regret it. Regret. John. Sherlock stood looking at his battered reflection. He wanted nothing more then to run back to his room and the safety of John's arms and settle next to him forever. Sherlock's heart told him that John didn't give a damn how things turned out, and would have him back with open arms. But reason said otherwise. Reason said that over time Sherlock would see the resentment begin to bloom in John's beautiful blue eyes and love turn to repulsion. Sherlock couldn't live every day waiting for each to be their last. He had never expected to become all the things his life had lacked. Sherlock wanted to leave things as they had been. Good, beautiful and pure. To see that love weather and die wold be beyond agony. Sherlock nodded to his tear stained reflection and left Kings, for good.

~Goodbyes~

John and Irene lay silently side by side in bed stairing up at the ceiling. Irene spoke first.

"You know he would shit to see us like this?" Smoke swirled in the air above her.

John held his head up to look Irene in the face as they lay head to foot her face down by his feet.

"Only for a second. Then he'd be crowding in with us and stealing your cigarette." John said fondly and sadly.

To Irene John always seemed to be on the verge of tears. In a constant melancholy haze. A pained fake smile his only companion, save for those rare occasions (like this one) when he would allow Irene a moment or two. They would sit together not speaking. There was no real need for words. Pain was the unspoken language they sheared.

Irene had taken over Sherlock's studio flat on Angel Lane, just to feel closer to her lost friend. She invited John over frequently but he mostly declined. But today he was shipping out and had come to say his goodbyes.

Thomas true to his word had John expelled. It wasn't long after that John enlisted so as to finish out his doctorate, but mostly to escape. He was angry, hurt and empty. His whole world was off kilter without Sherlock, and he needed an outlet. Afghanistan would be that.

"I better be off." John got up. Irene followed.

"Well you do cut quite the figure in your fatigues. Sherlock would eat you alive!" Irene chuckled.

"Sherlock." Was John's only reply.

"Right then. Off you pop." Irene's voice was even as her eyes began to sting.

"Irene...you will let me know if..."

"Of course John. Of course."

~Helmand Province Afghanistan Six Years Later~

John sat forearms resting on bent knees on the ground of a small rise that over looked the military base and the town of Sangin, where scattered columns of black smoke from the nights battles mixed with the pinks and purples of the rising sun. He'd been up since this time yesterday, the fighting had been intense and the casualties steady, so his morning coffee was doing little to keep sleep at bay at this point. He knew he should catch an hour or two before more casualties began to pore in, but the thought of closing his eyes to the monsters of his dreams was a less appealing thought then dropping dead of exhaustion. Most nights his dreams were riddled with broken and bloody screams and he would wake drenched and panting. Those were the nights John welcomed, those horrors were real, and he could lay hands on those demons in the day light and drive them away. It was the other dreams, the ones of eyes the color of winter rain fanned by dark lashes, as a musical swirling baritone uttered "John" that left him shaken and lost. There was no fight against ones own heart. John marveled at the mans grip on him still. He often wondered if he ever crossed that brilliant beautiful mind. The local landscape didn't help matters much either. The over abundance of tall thin men with dark curls had sent John's heart rate skyrocketing more times then he'd care to admit. But admit it he did. Six years on and John had had nothing more meaningful then a two night stand. Love was no longer his to give. Nor did he seek it. Because their was only one source that could fill his needs. So he would live his life out in the sun and sand and conflict, doing good where he could and hopeing each day a bullet would fill the hole in his heart.

~Karachi, Pakistan~

Irene stepped back into the cool air of the hotel room, leaving the terrace doors open and the bright dessert sun behind her enjoying the mixture of hot and cold. She accepted the cup of tea that was offered to her and sat down across from her savior.

"Well?" Irene asked.

"Well what?"

"You know perfectly well what. Don't play coy. Surely you didn't come all this way just for little old me."

"So you believe I'm here for some other reason, and just so happened to drop by and save your life en route?"

"Something like that." Irene lit a cigarette and took a long deep drag as if it were fresh air.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and plucked the cigarette from her lips and brought it to his own.

"God woman! You're just as vexing as you've ever been." Sherlock tried to sound irritated but it was hard to hide the smile in his voice.

"How sweet of you to notice. Now cut the crap! Are you going to see him or not?"

"You know Irene, if I didn't know better I'd say you got tangled up here in Pakistan just to get me on this side of the world."

"Now that would be clever, wouldn't it?" Irene grinned a sort of shocked innocence.

"No, that would be evil. And stupid." Sherlock offered a smile and the cigarette. Irene spread her hands in a conciliatory manner.

"And why would I go threw all that trouble?"

"Because you could never stand to be wrong, and you believe in some kind of misguided hope that John and I could still be together."

"And what's so wrong with that? Hope springs eternal!" Sherlock made a face that told Irene how distasteful he had found he last statement.

"Fine. Say I wanted to see John. Too much has happened. Time changes people."

"Has time changed you?" Irene knew the answer, it was written on every line of Sherlock's face.

"Never." The word was hushed and solum.

"So that leaves us right back at square one. Me trying to get you into the path of John Watson. The wheel turns and nothing is ever new." Smoke hovered in the air between them.

"You can't use two cliches in one sentence."

"I can if their both true."

"I want to, really I do." Sherlock sounded like the young and doubtful student of from their uni days.

"Oh dear God! Dose anyone else feel like we're right back at the beginning of this story! Sherlock it's been years, you said so yourself, if there was ever anything to forgive in John's eyes he's past it now."

"And what would I possibly say after all this time?"

"You'd say, 'I'm an idiot. And 'I love you.'"

"Alright then." Sherlock said effortlessly and waved a hand in the air.

"What?!" Irene nearly spat tea across the room.

"Repeating myself. Oh how I've missed that. Alright. Then. Such sage advice, how could anything possibly go wrong?"

Irene squealed in triumph. Sherlock rolled his eyes, but smiled nonetheless.

~Helmand Province, Sangin District Afghanistan~

Bullets fired at a constant pace, wizzing through the air unseen muzzle flash and deafening sound added to the havoc all around John hunkered down low to the sand.

"Stay calm. I got you and you're gonna be fine. Look at me. You're going to be ok. Keep pressure on that and I'll be right back yeah?"

He soothed fears and instilled confidence as he went. John moved from one wounded soldier to the next. And then the next, and then the next. Sweat, blood and sand marked his brow. Seven wounded and two dead with no end to the fighting in sight.

"Watson!" Someone else needed help. John turned to answer right into the path of a bullet. Pain ripped through his body blinding and hot. A black tunnel of confusion sucked John down. Why was he suddenly so cold? Where had the sounds of the battlefield gone? And why was everything...Sherlock? John's thoughts echoed in his spinning head.

"I'm dying. I'm dying and all I can think of is him. How much I still miss him, love him."

John's thoughts faded, he drifted away into pools of aqua blue green with flecks of gold and let the cold and pain take him.


	10. Chapter 10

This next part is very jumbled and disjointed. Don't worry, I haven't lost my mind (well I say haven't) its on purpose. It's fragmented bits and pieces and if by the end you feel a little fuzzy and confused, then I've done my job properly. We are seeing things from a fevered mind, catching snippets in and out of consciousness. I hope it's not too ambitious.

In the six years since Kings, Sherlock Holmes had become. He was the worlds only consulting detective he was a renown genius, a first chair worthy violinist and a consultant for New Scotland Yard. He was also still very much in love. That had not changed in the least. And even tho he kept that love locked safely away in a richly appointed heavily guarded room, in the deepest recesses of his mind palace, it was still as strong and achingly beautiful as it had been all those years ago. Years ago, when he'd had the chance to tell John the truth of his heart. That's why he was sitting here now and had been for the past week, reading to John at his bed side, watching his weak struggle against the infection that ravaged his body. Sherlock felt utter heartbreak. Sherlock had followed John's military career over the years, and had known every step he'd made every special commendation, every promotion he'd turned down, lives he'd saved and those he'd lost. John had been a part of him every day. He'd come to the desert land with the hope that he had been a part of John all this time too. Funny how things change. Now Sherlock's only hope was that John live.

They say when you're dying your life flashes before your eyes. John wasn't sure that was entirely true. Because not a single thing passed through his minds eye except Sherlock Holmes. But then again perhaps it was. Sherlock had become his life in such a short time. When you find the person you are made to love, time becomes irrelevant. Boundaries fade and whats conventional becomes blurred. Love. Their love. It was the kind of thing that people wrote fluffy unbelievable stories about. Love that lives outside of normal confines. Love that would not conform, would not be put in it's place. Soul deep and unending. Till death...

Pain, cold and heavy wrapped around his bones. Why was he so cold?

"Infection. Fever. Severe. Damage to the left shoulder...auxiliary artery...

Voices tried to pierce through John's icy encasement.

*Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer "Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is, I was napping, and so gently you came tapping, and so faintly you came rapping at my chamber door. That I scarce was sure I heard you...*

Warm whispers. Drawing John up through the cold.

"Please John, get stronger." The words spread warmth.

Sherlock read from his tattered copy of Poe, for hours. Little sleep, less food. It didn't matter.

*"At Paris, just after dark one gusty evening in the autumn of 18—, I was enjoying the twofold luxury of meditation and a meerschaum, in company with my friend C. Auguste Dupin, in his little back library."*

Was it 1800 something? Is that why it's so cold? Is it cold? John's fever consumed brain searched for answers.

Doctors came and went. But Sherlock stayed. Irene convinced him to leave only once.

"It had to have been a sniper judging by the .338 Lapua Magnum round."

"How can you possibly know what kind of round it was?"

"It's my job to know."

Darkness and unrelenting cold tugged at John's limbs, begging him to stay.

But a warm rumble penetrated the cold from time to time. Had it been there since the start? John wanted to go wherever it was.

*"There the traveller meets, aghast,

Sheeted Memories of the Past-"*

Past. That sound. The sound of honey. Thick and sweet, heavy on your tongue. That sound was Sherlock.

John opened his eyes to a riot of black curls and porcelain skin. Familiar, but all wrong.

"Hello, there Dr. Watson." Irene offered a pretty red lipped smile. "Always a look of mild disappointment. Oh don't fret, he'll be right back."

"Get out." Sherlock said from the doorway and gestured for Irene to leave.

"Yes well before I go" Irene stood next to Sherlock in the door way "just let me say.." Sherlock rolled his eyes and shoved her out the door shutting it firmly behind her.

John sat himself up in the bed, in obvious pain but unhindered and just stared, more alive in that moment then he'd been in years. More afraid then he'd been on the battlefield and just as in love as the first day they'd kissed in uni.

The man had aged and it looked good on him. Skin made a warm gold by six long years in the relentless desert sun, and eyes that rivaled the Aegean Sea. God but he was beautiful.

"Say something." John's voice was a scratchy unused whisper.

Sherlock's smile spread across his face and he took a step toward the only thing in this world that could make him whole. Thats when the door burst open and three doctors pushed passed him forcing Sherlock to move to the corner of the room. Doctors poked and prodded and asked questions. How was John feeling? How was the pain? Did he want some water? And on and on. John nodded and answered automatically from a far off corner of his brain. His main focus, his only focus was Sherlock. They hadn't let go of each other's gaze, and John felt from across that buzzing room that they would never let go again. John reached the fingers of his left hand towards Sherlock, a small gesture hardly noticeable, but so full of longing. Hands by his side fingers splayed Sherlock did the same. They reached for each other. Across the room and across the years that had separated them. Nothing had changed. The men themselves may have, but the love they had for each other was a force unto itself, that time and distance could not touch. One by one the doctors filed out of the room, with each one that left Sherlock got a little closer. The last one left with a stern warning.

"He needs his rest. Please keep it brief."

Sherlock nodded, with no intention of leaving this mans side ever again. He stood just inch away now still unable to speak. All he could do was act on the flood of Dopamine, Norepinephrine and Serotonin threatening to overwhelm him.

"Sherlock." A long whisper. A plea, a statement of disbelief and the answer to all his prayers.

Sherlock hesitated at the edge of John's bed, fairly vibrating, fingers spidered up the bed sheet, he raised trembling hands to the sides of John's golden weathered face, and kissed him slow and familiar, like a lover coming home after a long absence.

"John, there's something I should say, I've meant to say always and I never have. I'm sorry...you're here in Afghanistan, it's my fault and..."

"Stop, just stop. You are the dumbest smart person I've ever met!" John ignored the look of shocked indignation and kept talking. "You think I joined the army to become a doctor, because that's all I ever wanted from life, well you're wrong. I joined the army with the singular hope that this bullet" John pointed to his shoulder and drew a line to his heart. "Would be ten inches to the right. I told you! To your face that all I wanted in this life was to be with you. Nothing more, but that brain of yours won't let you believe me. Now you've cost us six years. And I expect to be payed back, starting now."

"So you in fact do want to, that is we...you." Sherlock stammered, his way to understanding.

"I never want to be another day without you. So you tell me, where do we go from here?"

"221b Baker St. I've got a nice little flat, in central London, with a spare bedroom if you're interested."

"A spare room you say?" John raised an eyebrow.

"Yes." Sherlock gave a pretty smile.

"We won't be needing two." John reached for him again, for more kisses.

One Week Later

Egypt. In An Undisclosed Location

Sherlock wanted the first time he said 'l love you' to John to be perfect. He'd looked it up online and consulted countless websites on the most romantic ways to do it.

"Maybe if I loved you less I could talk about it more." That one was true, but not romantic in the lest.

"I love you to the moon and back." What on hell did the 477,710 mile distance have to do with love?

"I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you." What? That was just idiotic.

This was pointless. Sherlock knew he would never be good at the words so he decided to abandon the idea altogether. Perhaps it would just have to happen naturally as they say.

John on the other hand said the words like he was born to them. When they woke in the morning under the sheets together with the sunlight barely there, noses brushing lips a whisper away. "I love you." Midday over the rim of his tea cup. "I love you." And so so late into the night spent with a hint of Gaelic in his voice. "God how I love you."

So when the words came tumbling out of Sherlock's mouth for the very first time in a harsh jurky groan while he was riding John's cock like the devil, it was in fact perfect.


End file.
